


Crisis of Faith

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (also a bamf), Aveline is a bamf, Cullen is trying, Gen, The Last Straw and its aftermath, and Hawke is nonbinary, background Handers, blood cw, to understand, trying so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Cullen tries to put the pieces together in a way that fits and... fails.





	Crisis of Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen (handersmyheart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/gifts).



> A loose sequel to ["Midnight Mass"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088165).
> 
> CW: blood

“It’s _you_...”

(It was. _Had_ to be. Surely, it was him, but—he was _here,_ and he—)

Cullen’s fist wrapped around the pommel of his sword without thinking as the flames burned around them. He could hear Meredith’s low, dark tones; she was saying _something,_ and by the reactions of Hawke’s friends and Orsino’s quavering response it wasn’t anything good, but Cullen couldn’t tear his eyes from the mage.

 _Anders._ Yes, that’s right. He had known him abstractedly—one couldn’t know Hawke and not know the misfits that made up that ragtag band of friends—but rarely had interacted with him. Had he ever? Surely he would have recognized him, even now, almost a decade since Kinloch. But no, surely Anders would have avoided the Gallows, and though it went against everything he believed, Cullen understood why.

(He looked… older. Haunted. Empty. And yet… relieved. Cullen hated it.)

Cullen’s jaw ached, clenched tight against trembling at the scene. Here was the Darktown Healer, shedding his moniker in the name of—what, destruction? Senseless slaughter?

(How could Anders do it? He had been a good man, hadn’t he? Back at the Circle? What could warrant this?)

His fingers bit into the joints of his gauntlets. He was there again, outside the Harrowing chamber, trapped and useless while the world around him burned and shuddered, the screaming blurring one moment to the next.

(“No, no, no,” he muttered, kneeling before the barrier, as far away from the mangled bodies of his fellows as he could be in that little nook.)

“No, no, no…” Cullen chanted under his breath, eyes wide and staring at the scene. Hawke, reasonable Hawke, _logical_ Hawke, stepped behind, knife in hand, and—

Hawke threw it away.

“ _No!_ ” The Brother—Sebastian, a good man, quiet, kept to himself—howled and stalked to Hawke’s side. “If you do this, Hawke, I swear I will go back to Starkhaven and return with an army,” he threatened.

Cullen shuddered. No, he, _no,_ he couldn’t let that happen. Kirkwall was innocent. He couldn’t let the people suffer for this.

(He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let that happen, not on his watch.)

“No, no, no…”

Hawke bent to pull Anders from the ruined column upon which he sat, brushing the stone dust from his shoulders. “Do it, Sebastian, and you’ll condemn them all to their deaths.” The words rang out in the hushed courtyard.

“Hawke,” Sebastian pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

( _Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this._ )

“It seems you’ve made your choice, _Champion_ ,” Meredith spat with disgust. She turned,and around them the gathered crowd exploded into movement.

Cullen stared ahead at Anders, hand still firm on his sword.

“Come, Knight-Captain.”

Anders looked up from over Hawke’s shoulder and met his gaze with a grim nod.

Cullen fought down the urge to retch, his body clenching, as if punched in the gut. He turned to follow the Knight-Commander from the ruins of the Chantry with a silent, aching snarl.

* * *

“Knight-Captain.”

The legendary escape artist of Kinloch Hold stood like a silent specter before him. He could capture him, bring him to the Chantry. It was his duty, to the Chantry and to Kirkwall alike.

(Cullen was a good Templar, wasn’t he? Even still? He believed, he was skilled, he… If Cullen took him now, he could—he could present him to the Divine, they could get justice for the people Anders _murdered_ , he could—)

His sword hand trembled. “ _Why?_ ” Cullen all but howled.

Corpses littered the courtyard around them, staining its pristine tiles red with gore. In the corner of his vision he could see Hawke and their assembled friends checking the bodies, someone even going so far as to recite hushed strains of the Chant over the fallen.

(It did not escape him that he could still very well die this night.)

Anders gestured to the hush around them. “As long as this—the Gallows, the Circles, all of it—as long as this all stands, there will never be peace. There will only be slavery, and the enslaved, and the masters. And as long as you and your order stands, we will always need to fight.”

Cullen’s hand steadied and he brandished his sword, the bloodied tip pointed toward Anders’ throat. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise, Cullen,” Anders said. He spread his hands wide, gesturing around them with his staff. “Look at this. Really _look,_ Cullen. Mages didn’t do this, your templars did. Your lyrium-addled Knight Commander did this.” He looked past him at the approach of more heavily-armored templars.

Hawke’s voice rang out in the disquieting hush. “And if you think you’re going to have any of your shiny lackies here try to take him or any of us in, well… You’re more of a fucking idiot than I thought, Cullen.”

He couldn’t fight the gnashing of his teeth at Hawke’s casual ease, at the way they walked so confidently to Anders’ side. His eyes never left Anders’ own. “He is a wanted apostate, Hawke, and just committed mass murder in the—”

“Which is a _civil_ crime, Knight-Captain, and I will personally make you rue the Maker-damned day if you even _try_ to overstep your jurisdiction in my city again.”

Andraste’s grace, even the Guard Captain was against him. His mouth twisted into a snarl. “I am a sworn Knight of the Chantry,” he said, fighting for control. Maker preserve him; Aveline, normally so level-headed and pragmatic, looked like she might effortlessly rip out his spleen through his navel if he so much as twitched in Anders’ direction. “I—I have my orders—I have my _duty_.”

“Then do it.” Anders shoved past Hawke’s intimidating figure and moved just beyond the edge of Cullen’s sword. “Do it, then, if you feel so righteous after slaying your own Knight Commander. If you feel that you can go on abusing the people in your dubious care.”

(Should he? _Could_ he?)

Anders threw down his staff against the shouted protests of his friends. “You said once that you joined because you wanted to protect. Isn’t that how you put it, when you tried to befriend Surana? Before the Blight, before Kinloch fell? Before the Order chewed you up and spat you back out, only to send you to the Gallows?”

Cullen flinched and took an unsteady step backwards. “That’s not what happened,” he protested weakly.

(The acrid smell of burnt blood and seared flesh, the brittle taste of ozone and spent mana, filled his senses once more. _No, no, no…_ )

“It is, though, isn’t it?” Anders pressed forward, and was hardly a hair away from the finely honed point of Cullen’s sword. “They condemned you to this place, just like any of your wards, didn’t they? The worst Circle in all of Thedas. Kept an eye on you, watching to see if you’d snap. But you only turned a blind eye to the abuse here—became the perfect Templar, I’d imagine. They broke you, just like they break the mages.”

A deep breath on Anders’ part could have had his blade piercing his breast. “Come no further, mage.” Cullen said. “You are an apostate. I name you maleficar—a danger to society who should be brought to justice.” Cullen was glad to hear the strength of the words, if lacking in conviction. “I am _nothing_ like you.”

Anders snorted and shook his head. “No, Cullen, you’re not. You’re worse for it.”

The haggard emptiness fell from Anders’ shoulders like an old cloak and he once more let Hawke step between them. Cullen’s lip curled at the sight of their scowl and he fought to sheathe his sword.

“We’re going to leave, Knight-Captain,” Hawke said warily, hands splayed open. “Meredith is dead, as are her loyalists. As a favor to your change of heart, we did not attack any of your men who did not attack us first. The mages have been evacuated.”

“They—you can’t just—”

“And if you choose to go after them, you’ll have a lot more to handle than the bodies in your courtyard,” Hawke interrupted. They regarded him coolly, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching toward their weapon. “We are free to go, are we not, Knight-Captain Cullen?”

He nodded stiffly and waved them off. “Get out of here, Hawke,” he snapped. “If I see you and yours in Kirkwall again, I’ll—”

“Report them to the Kirkwall City Guard, specifically the Guard Captain,” Aveline replied with a snarl. “Jurisdiction, Rutherford. No one saw Anders use magic on the Chantry, you don’t officially know he’s an apostate.” Her stern expression fell to one of quiet disbelief. “He’s just got a rather unfortunate sense of taste, but, try as I might, that’s not a crime.”

Cullen snorted. “You cannot seriously believe anyone will take that as truth.”

“And you cannot seriously believe I’m going to let you lot run my city like you have been,” Aveline retorted with a huff. “I am the authority of Kirkwall now, like it or not, Rutherford. If I see your men acting out of line in the city, you and I will have some hard discussions, and I will tell you now—trained Knight or not, you will not enjoy them.”

He met her glare for a moment. She was a veteran of the Blight, he had heard, and her late husband a well-respected templar in his own right. From what he’d seen of the Guard Captain, she was a formidable opponent.

(Could he take her? He considered the thought briefly. _Very_ briefly.)

His lips pressed into a tight line and he nodded. “Hawke and their company are leaving. Templars, to me,” Cullen called loudly.

“ _Thank you,_ Knight-Captain,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes, moving to lead their crew out of the Gallows.

Anders almost turned to walk away with this companions but he stopped. He handed his staff to Hawke and ignored their protests; instead Anders approached him, not a hint of fear playing over his face.

“What do you think you’re—” Cullen started.

“‘Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.’” Anders reached his hand out, flinching when the armored knights around them shifted to draw their swords. Cullen shook his head ever so slightly to still their hands and stared at him warily.

“‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just,’” Cullen finished, almost by rote. He knew it well—it was the most frequent mantra Knight Commander Meredith had chanted, making its way into her daily prayers in the chapel. Anders rested his bare palm on his pauldron, and Cullen raised his brow at the sight. “Do you think yourself righteous, then?” he asked incredulously. “After all this?”

A wan smile flickered over Anders’ gaunt face. “Do you?” he replied.

(Did he?)

He opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t find the words.

“Get out of here, Cullen,” Anders said quietly. There was something almost warm in his eyes—concern? Sympathy? “Out of Kirkwall, out of the Order, all of it. Don’t let them break you like everyone else. Find someplace quiet and, and, get a cat. Or--you’re Fereldan, get a dog. A mabari or something. Anything. Just get out while you still can.”

(Andraste preserve him, advice from a maleficar. No matter how well meaning, it would surely be his ruin—wouldn’t it?)

Cullen shook his head. He had his duties, had to make sure the Gallows recovered—that Kirkwall recovered.  “Go, Anders. Maker’s fucking breath, just… go.”

Anders closed his eyes for a breath before regarding him sadly—him! A Knight of the Templar Order! Cullen chafed at the expression in his eyes.

“Get better,” Anders said with a shake of his head. “I hope that whatever prayers you say to get you through this bring you… something,” he finished on a sigh.  

Cullen bristled but only watched while Anders turned away and retrieved his staff from the bloodied ground. Hawke quickly made their way to his side, their hand all but clutching at his arm as they rested their brows together. Cullen’s eyes narrowed at their familiarity. _Of course._

“Anders,” he called sharply. Both of them turned, and Anders shot him a tired frown, even as he moved in front of Hawke. Cullen curled his hands into fists, the metal of his gauntlets clinking against each other with the movements. “I… The Chantry will be looking for you. Hawke’s status will not protect you. Turn yourself in and—”

“I’d rather die than be a slave to the Templars or the Chantry, Cullen,” Anders said, his words carrying easily. “That’s why you’re nothing like me.”

Cullen didn’t stop them again when they turned to descend the stone steps leading to the docks.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com/post/177602497316/for-mhandersmyheart-and-dadrunkwriting).
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!
> 
>  


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